


The Sergeant and the Gryphon Cub

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [31]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Baby Gryphon, F/M, Gen, wild magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: With a four-year-old Wild Mage in residence, Greg Parker’s got a bit of a mess on his hands.  Add in the three Wordsworth girls, the press, and an indignant pureblood family and Greg’s weekend just got a lot more interesting.





	1. Dreams and Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the thirty-first in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "The Gryphon in the Airport".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Wordy had known it would come, sooner or later; the miracle that brought a certain sixteen-turned-four-year-old back to them couldn’t erase the last week of shock, anger, and mourning.  And it certainly couldn’t erase the nightmares the Sarge had been having since the accident.  So when Sarge slunk into the Wordsworths’ kitchen at two in the morning, Wordy was lying in wait and already had the coffee made.

Wordy waited until his boss slumped into the chair closest to the door to speak.  “Rough week, huh, Sarge?”

Sarge jumped a foot, his head snapping up, hazel eyes wide and unable to hide their pain; the ghost of a boy who was sleeping only meters away haunted their depths.  Seconds ticked by, the shocked man gaping at his worried though slightly amused subordinate, then Sarge did his best to smile.  “Morning, Wordy.”

Wordy wasn’t about to let his boss get away with faking being all right.  The constable made a show of inspecting the nearby clock, then wryly offered up, “Well, I guess it _is_ technically after midnight, but I think most people would call 2 AM the middle of the night, Sarge.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarge sigh and slump down again, giving up the mask that hadn’t been fooling Wordy anyway.  “How bad?” Wordy inquired bluntly.

The other man rubbed at his eyes, looking even more exhausted.  “Same one I’ve been having since that blasted accident,” he admitted after several minutes, when it became clear Wordy would wait as long as he had to.

Wordy cocked his head to the side, inviting his Sergeant to elaborate, but he didn’t; just stared into his coffee cup, tears gleaming at the corners of his eyes.  Silence draped the room, but Wordy refused to break it; if this nightmare was the reason Sarge hadn’t been getting better, then it had to be dealt with _now_ , before it tainted Sarge’s relationship with his nephew going forward.  And Sarge knew that too, Wordy could tell – his Sergeant was shifting, mostly staring at his cup, but also glancing up at Wordy as well, panic glittering brighter the longer Wordy simply waited, tapping his own coffee cup with a thoughtful expression on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

It seemed to take forever; as the clock ticked on, Sarge twitched and fidgeted and flinched, drawing in a few deep breaths, but still saying nothing.  And when, at last, he spoke, it was a hoarse, barely heard whisper.  “Always the same one, Wordy,” he rasped; Wordy sat forward at once, his fingers shifting from his cup to the table and eyes on his boss, paying close attention.  “My car, on fire, with Lance trapped inside.”  Brown eyes closed and Sarge didn’t seem to notice two tears slipping free.  “We didn’t even see it on fire, Wordy; by the time Ed got there, the fire was out, but…”

“You can imagine it,” Wordy supplied, his own voice low and soft.  He flinched at the image, so easy to imagine and impossible to forget, a perfect storm to lash out and emotionally flay his boss alive.  A nasty voice at the back of his head whispered that it was only what his boss deserved, for abandoning Wordy when he’d needed backup most; Wordy mentally recoiled and took the time to grab that thought by its throat, strangling it with fury and indignation that anyone, _anyone_ , much less his gentle boss, deserved to go through the sheer _hell_ of thinking someone they loved had burned to death.  When the nasty voice was silent and the even nastier thought was well and truly dead, Wordy cleared his throat, drawing Sarge out of his blank stare at the table.  “We got him back, though, Sarge.”

Sarge stiffened, fear and resignation mixing in his eyes.  “This time,” he countered and Wordy wished he was surprised by that.  “What happens next time, Wordy?  What if next time he doesn’t come back?”

“Playing the ‘what if’ game isn’t going to help anyone, Boss,” Wordy pointed out, keeping his voice matter-of-fact and level.

The other man’s coffee cup abruptly slammed down on the kitchen table.  “He was _dead_ ,” Parker snarled, as if Wordy’s observation had been the last straw.  “For a _week_ , he was dead and gone and _nothing mattered anymore_.  How could he _do_ that, Wordy?  How could he do _that_ to us…to _me?_ ”  The rage drained away just as suddenly as it had come and Sarge slumped down even further in his chair, fortunately missing the expression on Wordy’s face at his Sergeant’s inadvertent admission of just how _badly_ he’d been handling Lance’s ‘death’.  Without looking up, Parker continued, his voice listless, “He was gone, Wordy, and I…I don’t know if I can handle it again.”  A bitter laugh.  “Not that I handled this week all that well, anyway.  And when I woke up tonight…I didn’t remember he was still alive until I saw him sleeping on the couch.”

Wordy licked dry lips, wishing Ed was here; Ed knew Sarge the best of any of them and Wordy was pretty sure Sarge counted Ed as his best friend.  Ed would know how to whack Sarge upside the head and get him to stop being an idiot, but he wasn’t here and Wordy _was_.  “Come on, Sarge, you think I’d handle something like this happening to my girls any better?”  A snort, meant to be loud and derisive.  “You’d probably have to cuff me _and_ use that full-body bind spell to keep me away from the _nut_ who thought, just ‘cause one of my girls looked like _their_ kid, it gave them the right to keep her away from me ‘n’ Shelley.”  Wordy shook his head, but not at Sarge.  “But _you_?  You walked away, kept your focus on Lance and let Giles and Roy handle that witch.  That…that’s a heck of a lot better than _I_ could do and you know it, Sarge.”

“And what about the rest?” Sarge questioned without looking up.  “I _knew_ I was sinking, Wordy, but I didn’t care; that wasn’t good for the team, wasn’t good for Alanna.”

Wordy pushed himself up and ostensibly went to get more coffee.  Casually, he inquired, “So, what, you think just ‘cause you couldn’t come to grips with what happened inside of twenty-four, you never would have gotten better?  That, just ‘cause you were grieving, you were letting ‘Lanna down?  Letting the team down?”  At the startled look he got, Wordy shot his boss an irritated expression.  “Give me a break, Boss; it takes a _lot_ longer than a week to get over a loved one dying.  And we _knew_ you were having trouble, that’s why you and Alanna are here instead of _your_ place, remember?”

“And if we’d gotten a hot call?” Sarge challenged.

A shrug.  “Jules would’ve negotiated while Ed handled the team; he probably would have dumped the paperwork on you afterwards, though.”  At his boss’s incredulous expression, Wordy smirked, just a bit.  “We had it all worked out, Boss.  Holleran never would’ve known the difference.”  The constable rubbed a hand through his short, almost nonexistent hair.  “And tonight?  It’s so close that I’m not surprised you didn’t remember he was still alive at first, but you’ll have to thank Shelley for the couch idea; _I_ sure didn’t think of it.”  Sarge managed a tiny chuckle at Wordy’s self-deprecating tone.

Silence hung in the room, but neither man seemed in a hurry to break it.  Wordy blew on his coffee before sipping at it, idly watching the clock while _really_ keeping an eye on his boss.  Parker shifted back to the table, bracing his elbows on the surface and taking several deep breaths as he fought to get his emotions under control.

As the clock ticked on, Sarge looked up at Wordy again; Wordy obligingly shifted his gaze to his boss and quirked a brow.  “How do I do it, Wordy?”  At the puzzled expression he got, Parker elaborated, though his eyes dropped away, back to his cup.  “How do I risk going through all of this again?”

On the job, Wordy never would have done it, but here, at three in the morning, with his boss being a bit of an idiot, Wordy rolled his eyes and walked back to the table, literally whacking Sarge upside the head as he strolled past.  Without looking back, Wordy dropped into his chair again before finally glancing up at his boss; he bit back a snort at the poleaxed look on Sarge’s face.

“Stop it, Sarge,” Wordy chided.  “When Lance is back to being sixteen, you give him one _heck_ of a lecture for scaring you, ‘Lanna, and us half to death, ground him until he’s thirty, and move on.”  The constable hesitated, then added, “You love those kids too much to act like a coward now, Sarge.”

Parker flinched at Wordy’s all-too-accurate analysis.  He paused, considering, then, just as he opened his mouth, he stopped, eyes flicking downwards; Wordy followed his gaze and suppressed a chuckle.  A four-year-old stood next to Sarge, both hands on Sarge’s leg and head cocked to the side in clear curiosity.  “Hey, sport,” Parker greeted him softly.

“Uncle have bad dreams?” Lance asked, innocence in every syllable.

“Some,” Sarge admitted, his voice carefully level; Wordy shot his boss a warning look for using his negotiator skills.  “What are you doing up, Lance?”

Lance tugged at Sarge’s leg and Sarge obligingly swung him up, settling the little boy in place on one leg so he could see over the table and look at both men.  “Magic woke me up,” the child explained, “Wanted me to come and help.”

“Help with what?” Sarge inquired.

One hand patted Sarge’s chest.  “You talk to me,” Lance instructed, insistent as only a preschooler could be.  “Do better that way.”  The little boy snuggled in close to his uncle.  “And I talk back,” he finished, grinning at Wordy.

Wordy flashed a grin back across the table, noticing that his boss looked both startled and thoughtful at the little boy’s words.  Curiosity flared in brown eyes as Parker considered his next move.  “Does that happen often?” Sarge questioned, “Your magic telling you to do things, I mean.”

Both men were relieved at the shake of the small head.  “Magic tells me things,” Lance replied.  “Like baby sister; Mommy and Daddy kept saying I might have a baby brother, but I knew she was baby sister.  When she got big enough, she told me so.”

“Your magic could tell your Mom was having a girl?” Wordy interrupted without thinking, his eyes wide.

Lance regarded him, then shrugged.  “Baby sister’s magic talked to my magic,” he said simply.  Sapphire swept upwards.  “Magic told me about you, too,” he chirped.

“I know,” Sarge agreed, to Wordy’s surprise.  “You were right about that; I do much better with people who can talk back.”  Wordy arched a brow, but, when Sarge looked rather uncomfortable, he opted to drop the topic.

The child was oblivious to the exchange; he rattled on, “Magic talks much more now than before.  And magic let me see the spell mean Mummy woman used to trap me and keep me away from baby sister.”

“Trap you?” both adults demanded.

A solemn nod.  “Spell was on room door where mean Mummy woman made me sleep.”  He pouted and crossed his arms.  “Mean Mummy woman could tell if I opened door, but magic told me it was there, so I didn’t.”  He brightened after a second.  “Then Aslan came; He promised I could come home if I waited a little longer.”

The two men couldn’t help but stare at the boy; the Lion they’d seen in the Netherworld had _visited_ Lance?  Had promised the young wizard that he could go home, if only he waited?  “Why not bring you home?” Wordy asked.

Lance considered that, his face twisting up as he thought.  “He could have,” the little boy finally admitted.  “But He wanted me to trust Him to make a way.  And if He’d just brought me home, mean Mummy woman wouldn’t have gotten caught.  Now maybe she’ll ask Him for help and she can get better.”

Both elbows ended up on the table as Lance nodded to himself.  “She must have been nice once, before He called Daniel home.  I think she thinks He abandoned her, but He never does.  Or maybe she never knew Him.”  Magic trickled around the boy and he shaped it into a lion form that bounced around the table.  “Daddy says a lot of people don’t know the Lion anymore,” Lance remarked, watching his creation prance.  Looking up, he asked, “Is that true, Uncle?”

“I’d say it is true, Lance,” Sarge replied, his voice soft.  “So, you think He wanted us to find you ourselves?  Without help?”  A smidge of hurt lingered under his words.

“Silly,” Lance accused, one hand smacking his uncle’s chest.  “Aslan told Roy and Giles to look for me by the big, noisy metal things, so they found me.  Then they called you and _you_ found me.”  He smiled brightly and turned back to his play, a gryphon and a phoenix joining the lion on the kitchen table.

Wordy let out a low whistle.  “He’s got a point, Sarge.  I mean, what are the odds that _Roy_ and _Giles_ would be the guys called in by Customs _and_ that Customs would shuffle them off to watch the passengers from the _exact same_ plane that our kidnapper was flying on?”  _And what are the odds that Roy would just happen to walk close enough that Lance could see him and yell?_

Sarge froze, his eyes snapping up to meet Wordy’s.  “About the same as the odds that Lou had,” he whispered, going pale; Wordy went just as pale at the reference.  “About the same odds that _I_ had.”  A swallow, then, even softer, “When does it stop being chance, Wordy?”

Wordy stared at the four-year-old, who was completely unaware of the emotional firestorm he’d just kicked off.  “I don’t know,” he admitted after a few minutes.  That much was true, he _didn’t_ know the answer to Sarge’s question.  But, he was also quite sure that he didn’t _want_ the answer either…at least not yet, anyway.  Because, if it _wasn’t_ chance, if it was _more_ than chance, then what?

 _If it’s not chance, then it must be Someone,_ Wordy thought, right before he shoved that train of thought in a box and stuffed it in a deep, dusty corner.

Because if it _was_ Someone, then _everything_ changed.


	2. Wild Mage?

Normally Wordy spent as much time as possible with his family on the weekends; he was so busy during the week or during ten-day shifts that he often felt like he was – intentionally or not – depriving his family, so his off-time was almost always family focused.  This weekend, though, he had another focus: Sarge and the team’s two _nipotes_.

“Morning, Shel,” Wordy murmured, joining his wife in the kitchen, relieved that, after the hour long talk, he’d been able to persuade Sarge to sleep a few more hours; last he’d seen, a certain four-year-old was curled up next to his uncle, the pair of them fast asleep.

“Long night?” Shelley inquired, her eyes sympathetic.  At Wordy’s nod, she blew out a breath.  “I can’t even imagine it,” she admitted.  “To lose one of our girls and then get her back…”

“It’s crazy,” Wordy agreed.  “And all of this really rattled Sarge, not that I blame him,” he added hastily at the pointed look and raised brow from his wife.  “Plus the evaluations coming up…”

Shelley nodded thoughtfully as she organized breakfast for everyone in the house.  “Can someone else do them or does it have to be Greg?”

Wordy sighed, rinsing out his cup.  “No one else is cleared magic-side,” he explained bluntly.  “I mean, Commander Holleran is, but he’s not trained to do psych evals.  I think, a couple months ago, Sarge tried to raise the idea of adding another SRU team to the magical SRU, but Madame Locksley turned him down.”

“And now?”

“Now is too late, Shel; anyone else would have to be brought up to speed and we’ve had so many magic-side calls over the past few years that it would take a week or two to even read through everything, never mind figure out psych evals.  As it is, we’re actually going to have to do the evaluations over two days.  One day at SRU Headquarters and the other at the Auror Division.”  Wordy poured a new cup of coffee, then changed the subject.  “What’s our plan for today?”

Shelley looked up at her husband, smiling a little at the less than graceful pivot.  “Well, I was thinking, since you’re going to be busy with Greg and his kids, I would take the girls out for a girls-only day.”  When Wordy tossed her a guilty look, she chuckled and laid a hand on his arm.  “Kevin, I’m not mad,” she chided gently.  “Besides, I happen to think it’s a good idea to give Greg some support until this is over; heaven knows he needs it.”

* * * * *

Given the wizarding world’s penchant for going underground, Greg had actually been quite surprised that the entrance to Toronto’s St. Mungo’s Hospital was right out in the open, for anyone to see.  Well, perhaps not for _anyone_ to see; the entrance appeared to be an old, out-of-business department store in a less-traveled area of Toronto.  Still, considering how the magical world tended to hide all of their _other_ high population areas, it did feel…exposed.  A nurse had been kind enough to explain the rationale behind the building’s location during a prior visit; though the magical world as a whole tended to hide in deserted areas or underground, putting the hospital underground had been unfeasible at the time the hospital had been originally built and the patients did much better above ground, so the hospital had remained above ground ever since being built.

Auror Giles Onasi was waiting for the quartet in the hospital’s lobby, a grim look on his face and a newspaper in one hand.  “Auror Onasi?” Greg inquired cautiously once he, Wordy, Alanna, and, of course, Lance joined the Auror.

Giles shook his head and turned, leading the way past the Welcome Witch and up the stairs.  “Smith’s family is throwing a tantrum, a very _public_ tantrum, so we’re keeping this visit quiet,” he explained shortly.  Glancing back, he sighed, looking rather tired, as if he’d had just as long a night as Greg and Wordy had had.  “We found Lance’s broken wand and confirmed his entire story, but her family is arguing that no ‘Muggle’ should have ever been given custody of two pureblood children.  As if that justifies _kidnapping_ and everything _else_ she pulled.”

Greg stiffened, alarm sparking in his eyes.  “Do they have a case?”

“Legally, no, they don’t,” Onasi replied.  “And using a De-Aging Potion and multiple Suppression Potions on a minor means that public sentiment won’t be on ‘their’ side once we release that to the press, but the family is already pushing all sorts of utterly outrageous claims and demanding that Smith be let go without so much as a warning.  Unfortunately, until we get our facts together and release a statement to the reporters, they’re on the Smiths’ side.”  The Auror pushed a hand through his hair and offered the newspaper in his hand to Wordy; Greg had his hands full with a growling, hissing four-year-old.  In the background, Alanna was just as indignant, but also sad, as if she’d known quite well how the wizarding world would react.

Wordy surveyed the front page and whistled low and long.  “ ‘Pureblood Heirs Raised By Muggles’?  ‘Outrage Erupts Over Muggle Guardian’?  But the kids’ve been with Sarge for three years, so what’s their problem?”

Curiosity sparked and the Auror glanced back to see Greg nod agreement.  “Wow.  Three years; I would not have guessed that,” Giles remarked.  “Well, then I’d say before now, no one really high up heard about it…” he trailed off at the trio of head-shakes.

“Lord Potter got the British Wizengamot to overrule Dad’s Will,” Alanna explained shyly.  “Gringotts challenged his overturning of a goblin-executed will and Lord Potter never got custody of us.  But he and Lord Malfoy _both_ know about Uncle Greg, so it’s not like our guardianship was ever a _secret_.”

They climbed in silence as Onasi considered that.  After a few steps, the Auror cleared his throat.  “Then I’d say, before now, no one had enough to gain by exposing the ‘secret’ as you put it.  But for the Smiths…they’re a branch of the British pureblood Smith family that originally came here during the First War and they’d probably like nothing better than to have an excuse to raise two Scions of an Ancient and Noble House.”

“Political points,” Wordy snorted, his disgust clear when Giles inclined his head.  “And never mind that the kids are happy with Sarge and the rest of us.”

“Wordy, any outright slander in those articles?” Greg inquired, his gaze intent.

“Yes,” Onasi confirmed before Wordy could look.  “But it won’t do us any good; there aren’t any laws against libel or slander in the magical world.”

“What?” both Wordy and Greg blurted, eyes wide at _that_ particular tidbit.

But Alanna just looked sad.  “He’s right,” she whispered.  “After Voldemort’s return at the end of Lord Potter’s fourth year, he and Headmaster Dumbledore were slandered for the next _year_ by the Daily Prophet and _no one_ ever did anything to stop them.  Dad said Minster Fudge refused to believe Voldemort was back until he actually saw that monster _in_ the Ministry of Magic building itself.”

As they reached the top of the stairs and the landing for the Second Floor, Giles shepherded them off to the side.  “Look,” he began, pinching the bridge of his nose, “This _mess_ means that Madame Locksley isn’t likely to call you lot in for awhile; the last thing she needs is for the reporters to get a hold of the fact that none of you lot are wizards in the middle of all the shrieking about _this_ ,” he waved at the newspaper Wordy was holding.  “And frankly?  That’s probably for the best until things get back to normal.”

He stopped, blinking.  Wordy and Greg couldn’t help their snickers at the look on the Auror’s face; Giles shook his head at them.  “Well, as normal as things ever _get_ around you techies,” he remarked, earning new snickers from the two men while Alanna looked on with fond exasperation and Lance giggled from his perch, cheerfully mirroring his uncle.

* * * * *

A tall, slender woman with long chestnut hair caught up in a simple ponytail met them as the group entered the Magical Bugs and Diseases floor.  Very light blue eyes regarded them, then lit up, ever so slightly, as Auror Onasi moved to the front.  “Auror Onasi!  What can I help you with?”

Giles smiled, just a bit, in return.  “Healer Wesley, it’s been a while.”  The smile vanished as the Auror drew himself up, serious and business-like.  “I’d like you to make a full examination of our young friend here,” he began, one hand indicating the four-year-old in Parker’s arms.  “I need a full medical workup and as detailed a medical history as possible – the last week in particular.  I also need a certification of his magical nature.”

The Healer frowned.  “I’ll need a written affidavit with a Division Head’s signature before I can cast the magical background identification spells.”  Her gaze shifted to the little boy.  “And what am I looking for, Auror Onasi?”

Onasi pulled out the parchmentwork for the magical nature authorization.  “I’d rather not prejudice your results,” he demurred, offering the sheaf of parchment to the Healer.

With a deeper frown, she inspected the parchment, reading it over carefully.  “Very well,” she finally said briskly.  “Follow me, please.”  She led the group to an examination room, which looked similar to techie medical examination rooms.  “Please place the child on the bed and step back,” she requested, though it was more of an order and all of them knew it.

Lance whimpered when his uncle set him down and backed away.  “Easy, sport,” Parker soothed.  “Let the Healer check you over, okay?”

Sapphire flicked between the smiling Healer and his uncle, then Lance nodded.  “Okay.”

Giles stood back, though he kept one hand near his wand.  Given what he and Roy had found, he fully expected an explosion when Wesley found out what young Heir Calvin had been subjected to.  The Healer began with the medical history, her wand flicking first at Lance and then at a quill lying atop a fresh sheaf of parchment.  Lance tensed up at the wand coming close, but when it never cast a spell at him, he settled down again and watched the procedure with open curiosity.

The quill wrote by itself, dipping into a nearby ink well and rapidly filling the parchment; when the uppermost scroll was full, it automatically flipped off the table to expose the next scroll.  Healer Wesley paused to summon the fallen scroll and cast an ink drying spell on it; then she rolled it up and set it aside for when she was done with her exam.  A second scroll flitted to the ground before the exam was finished; it, too, was summoned, dried, and rolled up to be set aside.  With the exam finished, Healer Wesley moved to the third scroll and removed it manually, drying it and placing it next to the filled scrolls.

She flicked her wand at the quill and, as it rose, began to dictate, “I, Healer Madison Wesley, in accordance with the Canadian Auror Division’s written affidavit, do certify that this use of the magical background spell is legal.  Here to witness my use of this restricted spell is Giles Onasi, an Auror in the Canadian Auror Division.”  Another wand gesture and the dictation ended, drawing two lines for the Healer and Auror to sign as well as a thick black line below Healer Wesley’s statement; the quill ended in a hovering position, as if holding its breath for the spell.  Wesley turned, angled her wand at Lance, and incanted, “ _Ostendio Veran Natura_ **(1)**.”  A bright blue light shot out and hit Lance, swarming over him for a few seconds, before flying to the quill and disappearing into the writing implement.  The quill descended, writing furiously for several seconds, then rose up again and disintegrated into a fine ash.

Giles reached out and took the parchment, reading it over and frowning.  When he finished reading, he sighed in resignation and closed his eyes.  His wand dropped into his hand and he turned, casting _Silencio Locus_ at the door.  The wand flicked again, but nothing glowed and the Auror nodded in approval.

“Auror Onasi,” Healer Wesley scolded.  “You should know that we take our patients’ privacy _very_ seriously here.  No listening spells are permitted in these rooms.”

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” Giles quipped, earning a puzzled frown at the techie reference.  “I will need a Vow, Healer Wesley, before I can permit you to certify the results of your spell.  It’s in regards to an ongoing investigation.”

Healer Wesley tapped her wand against her palm.  “The only reason you would want a Vow is if you want to insure that I cannot reveal my patient’s name.”  When Giles inclined his head, she scowled fiercely.  “Did you or did you _not_ just hear me?  I will _not_ violate Healer-patient confidentiality, on that, you have my word.”

For a long moment, the two squared off, then Giles reluctantly surrendered the parchment.  As soon as Wesley saw it, she gasped softly, one hand flying to her mouth.  Wide blue eyes turned to the curious four-year-old on the examination bed.  “A Wild Mage?  A _full_ Wild Mage?”

“Yes,” Giles confirmed, his eyes going hard.  “Now, the exam results, if you please, Healer Wesley.”  The Auror’s jaw was clenched and anger glowed in the depths of deep brown eyes, though it wasn’t aimed at anyone in the room.

Healer Wesley retrieved a fresh quill and signed off on the magical background spell, then turned to the three scrolls of parchment from the initial exam.  She unrolled the first parchment, nodding to herself and murmuring as she read down the scroll.

Giles edged over to Parker, Wordsworth, and Alanna.  “A full examination goes back to when he was born,” the Auror explained in an undertone.  “The De-Aging Potion can’t mask his _real_ age, so that’s everything medical that happened to him from when he born to today.”

“So three scrolls isn’t unusual?” Parker inquired, outwardly calm, but the truth lurked in his eyes.

Onasi shrugged.  “It’s not the shortest I’ve ever seen,” he admitted, “But not the longest, either.”

“Why a full medical history?” Wordsworth questioned.  “We know about everything except last week, right?”

“A full history can be used as evidence that Sergeant Parker hasn’t mistreated his charges,” Giles admitted bluntly.  “I have no idea if the Smiths have enough clout to get that far, but I wouldn’t put it past them, especially since _other_ Canadian pureblood families are likely to pick this up and run with it.  If I could get away with it, I’d have her do one on Miss Calvin, too.”

“Not a good idea,” Alanna broke in.  “I doubt purebloods are going to understand about my aneurysm and everything that happened after I had it.”

“Point,” Wordsworth muttered at Giles’ instant freeze; the Auror gulped, he hadn’t thought of that.

They looked over as Healer Wesley set the first scroll aside and picked up the second scroll, inspecting the small writing closely and continuing to mutter to herself as she read.  Parker cleared his throat, bringing Giles’ attention back to himself.  “What about the medical files they already have here?” the Sergeant asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I’ll get the details on those before we leave, but doing a full medical history is rare outside of cases like, well, this.  Now, I know when the children came here, it was a bit of a mess for you, but the Brits _did_ transfer their medical files properly, because this hospital and St. Mungo’s in London are under the same umbrella, if you will.”

Parker nodded thoughtfully, but glanced between Onasi and the signed parchment on his nephew’s magical nature.  “Giles, why the fuss over Lance being a Wild Mage?”

Without looking up, Healer Wesley replied before Giles could.  “Wild Mages are quite rare, sir; over the centuries, there have been perhaps a handful of full Wild Mages and maybe a dozen or so wizards with pockets of Wild Mage traits or talents.  No one really knows much about Wild Magic, where it comes from, or why it’s so different from traditional magic.  Though I suspect the Unspeakables know a bit more than your average wizard: it was on their advice that many magical governments, including ours, decided to view Wild Mages as magical beings instead of fellow wizards.”  Lance whimpered at that, lifting wide, pleading eyes to his uncle; Parker was by his nephew’s side before Giles could blink, hefting the four-year-old up and holding him close.

Wesley drew back at the angry look Parker shot her, before continuing her explanation.  “Regardless,” she remarked, turning and unfurling the last scroll, reading it even as she spoke, “A few things _have_ been confirmed over the years.  For one, all Wild Mages appear to possess a small, almost infinitesimal amount of dryad blood; for two, Wild Mages are dependent on their magic for survival – anything which blocks their magic can be just as lethal to a Wild Mage as the Killing Curse – and lastly, Wild Mages have a natural _gift_ for wandless magic; ironically, this makes it rather difficult for a Wild Mage to find a wand that can be properly matched to them.”

The Healer bestowed a brief smile on Giles, who shifted nervously; he’d known Madison Wesley in school and she’d had more than a bit of a crush on him before he’d met his wife, Morgana.  From what he’d _heard_ , Madison was a very good Healer, though she had a tendency to rush to judgment.  Frankly, Giles was surprised she hadn’t ordered Parker away from her patient…never mind – from the look in her eyes, it was coming.

“Sir, put the child down, _now_ ,” Healer Wesley hissed, reaching for her wand.

Giles moved first, getting between Wesley and Parker without a lick of hesitation.  “Lance stays with his uncle,” Giles announced firmly.  “What did you find?”

“But…” Wesley began, only to stop at Giles’ narrow-eyed glare.  With a huff, she laid out the third scroll.  “Suppression Potions,” she announced, tossing Parker a glare of her own over the Auror’s shoulder.  “A De-Aging Potion, numerous memory alteration charms that this boy has managed to burn through; that would be his Wild Magic, I expect; and a number of injuries that look like he was _beaten_.”

Wordsworth cleared his throat and spoke up.  “Injuries to his face, chest, arms, and maybe his legs?” he offered up.

Suspicion flashed at the brunet constable.  “Yes, that’s correct,” Healer Wesley confirmed when Giles gave her an expectant look.

“That’s not a beating,” Parker remarked dryly.  “ _That_ would be the car accident.”

Giles turned, one brow going up.  “What do you mean?”

Parker sighed, looking down at his nephew.  “I need to put you down, sport.”

“Mk,” Lance acknowledged shyly, slipping down to the floor.

Parker stepped around Giles so both wizards could see him as he held up both hands.  “From the accident reconstruction and the witness statements, Lance stopped his car and even laid on the horn, but the other driver smashed right into him, head-on.”  Giles cringed as Parker used his hands to demonstrate how the cars had collided.

“Now, a head-on impact like that,” Parker stopped, swallowing hard and glancing down at his nephew.  “Even with a seat belt on, he probably has whiplash from the impact and the car might have been struck hard enough that his face hit the steering wheel.”

Another swallow and Parker visibly straightened his back.  “When they inspected my car, they found that the steering wheel column was shoved far enough back into the car’s interior that Lance was _also_ probably hit in the chest; he might have some bruises from the seat belt locking – they lock as soon as you jerk them with any kind of force to prevent worse injuries – and the steering wheel _might_ have gotten pushed far enough back that he was pinned between his seat and the wheel.”

It was Giles’ turn to swallow; forget the fire, how had Lance survived the crash?  Parker tilted his head, frowning thoughtfully.  Turning to Wesley, he inquired, “ _Were_ his legs injured?”

Healer Wesley scowled angrily.  “No,” she replied in a clipped tone, still bristling.  “Why was he not treated?” she demanded.

Parker wasn’t taking any of her guff; he scowled right back.  “That, ma’am, is part of an ongoing investigation,” he retorted, crossing his arms.  “I assume you can treat him here and now, though?”

Giles stepped in again before Healer Wesley could voice her opinions of both Parker and Wordsworth.  “Yes,” he agreed, “Please heal young Heir Calvin and I’ll take the examination report and add it to the case file.”  Parker swung his nephew up on the examination bed and Giles smiled as charmingly as he could at Wesley before asking, “Incidentally, do you know how much longer the De-Aging Potion will last?”

A shake of the head came from Healer Wesley.  “I would have to examine the potion itself and even then I couldn’t give you an exact estimate.  He’s a Wild Mage, Auror Onasi; for all _I_ know, his magic is burning through the De-Aging Potion, just like it burned through those memory charms.”  Before the Healer moved to the child’s side, she dragged Giles away from the two techies and the two kids.  “If this boy ends up here again, I’ll not hesitate to drag you down with that man,” she hissed fiercely.

Giles gave her the glare he used on suspects, smirking as she backed up.  The Auror straightened his back and spoke loudly enough for the other occupants of the room to hear.  “Healer Wesley, you have my _word_ that the _witch_ who harmed Heir Calvin will _never_ get near him again.”  He swiveled to walk back to his colleagues, then glanced back.  “And Healer Wesley?”  She looked up at him, eyes wide.  “Lance being a Wild Mage does _not_ leave this room, are we clear?”

The Healer opened her mouth to argue, then stopped at the deadly look in Giles’ eyes.  “Crystal clear, Auror Onasi,” she replied meekly.  Then she went to heal the young Wild Mage without another peep against either of the two techies.

 

[1] Latin for ‘Reveal your true nature’


	3. Four-Year-Old Flyer

Lance wasn’t happy when Uncle swung him up as they entered a big, bright, loud building with lots and lots of people, but he kept that to himself.  At the brisk pace Uncle, baby sister, and Wordy set, Lance understood.  He couldn’t move as fast as the grown-ups and baby sister, so he had to be carried, not that this discovery made him any happier.  The little boy looked around at the lights, giggling at all the things he could see: people laughing with each other, other kids his age going in and out of stores with their mommies and daddies, the bright, colorful displays on the walls; it was all new and busy and neat and he wriggled, just a bit, his eyes wide at everything he could see.  His magic murmured that he’d been here before, but he didn’t remember it, so he kept looking all around, delighting in each new thing and wishing he could look closer at the pretty things in the windows they went by.

When they finally slowed and entered a store, Lance pouted to see that the store was full of _clothes_ …clothes were _boring_.  When the adults reached a section with small clothing, he was let down.  “Okay, _mio nipote_ ,” Uncle remarked, “Let’s find a few outfits for you.”

Lance looked up at all the bright, colorful shirts, almost all of them with pictures on them, and instantly gravitated to one with a blue train; the train was bright blue and smiling down at him.  The little boy had the sense that the train was little, like him, but could do big things.  “This one?” he asked.

“How many are we getting, Sarge?” Wordy inquired as he picked out one of the blue train shirts and compared it to Lance.  The four-year-old wandered off to look at the other shirts, trailed by his sister.

“I’m thinking three, Wordy,” Uncle replied as Lance found another shirt, this one with white doggies that had black spots all over them.  There were two big doggies and five puppies playing in front of the big doggies.  “Three shirts, three pants, plus a pack of socks and junior briefs.”

“Nothing expensive,” Wordy remarked.

Lance twisted around in time to see Uncle shake his head.  “Just enough to get us through the next few days, Wordy.”

The little boy tugged the doggie shirt and asked, “This one?”

“That looks like a good choice,” Wordy mused, pulling a doggie shirt off to add to the train shirt.  “How ‘bout one more, kiddo?”

“I’ll get the pants,” baby sister offered.

“Copy that,” Uncle agreed.  “I’ll get the socks and junior briefs and Wordy, you stay with Lance.”

“Not a problem, Sarge,” Wordy said, casting a wide grin at Uncle.

Lance wondered, briefly, why Wordy was calling Uncle ‘Sarge’, but then his attention was caught by another shirt.  The shirt was red, his favorite color, and had a metal lion on it.  The lion’s eyes glowed yellow and it was mostly red, with silver legs, a white muzzle, and a gray tail.  “This one?” he pleaded, tugging on the shirt and wishing he could wear it now.

“Lemme take a look, sport,” Wordy chided; Lance let go and backed off at once.  Wordy picked up the first shirt and measured it against the two in his hands.  “Looks good,” was the pronouncement.  “Let’s take your new shirts up front, okay?  Then we can find someplace to eat.”

Lance nodded as fast as he could.  That was a _very_ good idea; he was _hungry_.

Wordy let him walk on his own as they went back through the store and found Uncle and baby sister waiting for them.  Once Wordy set the shirts down on the table right in front of a lady, he swung Lance up off the ground, so the little boy could see better.  Lance immediately waved to the lady behind the table, smiling widely.

The lady smiled right back as she took a card from Uncle and swiped it through a rectangle thing between her and Uncle.  “Shopping for the little one?” she asked Uncle.

“Yes,” Uncle replied, his eyes crinkling in the way Lance had figured out meant Uncle was pleased, even though he didn’t smile.

The lady gave Uncle his card back and put Lance’s new shirts in a plastic bag, handing the bag to baby sister.  “Thank you,” Lance chirped.  Mommy and Daddy always said to be polite to shopkeeps.

“You’re quite welcome,” the lady said, her dark brown eyes twinkling at him.

* * * * *

Baby sister suggested going to the magic side to eat, nervously adding that Lance might accidently let his magic loose at some point.  Lance was indignant; he knew how to keep his magic secret!  After all, Daddy had trusted him to not show Uncle his magic when they’d first met him, but baby sister’s magic had been locked up because she’d been too _little_ to hide her magic.

So it was a pouting four-year-old who was carried through the barrier to the magical side of the mall; Lance was _determined_ to show baby sister that he could keep his magic a secret, no matter _where_ he was, but Uncle and Wordy hadn’t given him the chance.

“We should probably head home after this,” Wordy remarked over Lance’s head.  “I think someone’s getting tired.”

Lance ignored that, too.  He was _just fine_ and he wanted to explore.  When they reached a small shop that sold food, Lance perked up again at the menu he was given.  He couldn’t read yet, but that didn’t matter, because all he had to do was touch a line and the menu read it to him.  Uncle and Wordy jumped the first time the menu talked, but baby sister wasn’t surprised.

She just smiled at the grown-ups and said, “Magic, remember?  Most kids menus will talk, so the kids can order even if they can’t read.”

“What about paper menus to draw on?” Wordy asked, his eyes curious.

Baby sister shook her head as Lance looked up, confused.  There was nothing here to draw on…at least he didn’t _think_ there was.  “Magical world still has parchment, Uncle Wordy,” baby sister explained, “And quills are too fragile to be used like crayons or even colored pencils.  Chalk that up to another thing the magical world is behind on.”

Lance returned his attention to the menu, tapping down the list and considering what he wanted.  When the server arrived, he waited until Uncle, Wordy, and baby sister ordered, then chirped, “Chicken, please.”

The waiter chuckled as he wrote Lance’s order down.  “We can do that, young sir.”  He glanced at Uncle.  “Anything I should add to that?”

“Carrots,” baby sister said at once.  “He likes those.”

As the waiter left, Uncle hiked a brow.  “If your brother likes carrots, why didn’t he order them, ‘Lanna?”

Baby sister rolled her eyes.  “Because,” she started, with a upward lilt in her voice, “He’s a gryphon Animagus.”

Wordy whistled as Uncle’s eyes went wide.  “Meat eater,” Uncle realized.  “But you both eat balanced meals…”  He trailed off, giving baby sister an expectant look.

With a blush, something Lance watched avidly, baby sister explained, “Right now, Lance is working more on instinct, just like any other little kid does.  And, um, even though we were _born_ with Animagus forms, Dad probably locked them down, so they didn’t really…um, _affect_ us until they got unlocked two years ago.  Phoenixes like to eat fruit – berries are the favorite – so, yeah, I tend to go a bit more for fruit than I used to.”

“And gryphons?” Wordy asked, an interested expression on his face.

“Both lions and eagles are meat eaters,” Uncle pointed out.

Baby sister nodded agreement.  “Yeah, that’s right.  I don’t know if you noticed, but Lance likes his steak rare, has ever since our forms were unlocked, and sometimes I _do_ have to nag him about eating fruits and vegetables, but we’re both old enough that, Animagus forms or not, we know we have to eat healthy.  A four-year-old, not so much.”

“Something else to keep an eye on, then,” Uncle decided.  “I’m glad you thought of it, _mia nipote_.”

Baby sister winked, but when the food arrived and the grown-ups made Lance eat his carrots, Lance did _not_ agree.

* * * * *

After lunch, Uncle and Wordy suggested heading home, but baby sister shook her head at once.  “Alanna,” Uncle began patiently, “Your brother is probably getting tired.”

Baby sister arched a brow.  “Ever seen a bored cat?” she inquired rather pointedly.  “It’s not pretty, let me tell you that much.”

“Does this have something to do with why you borrowed the family computer last night?” Wordy questioned after trading startled looks with Uncle.

“Yeah,” baby sister admitted.  “Can’t exactly look up gryphons, but I _did_ look up cats and usually, when a cat rips up the furniture, it’s bored.  Add bored part-cat to bored four-year-old and…?”

Lance pouted; he’d been bored _lots_ of times before and he’d never ripped up any furniture!  “I’m not bad,” he protested.

Baby sister moved so they were eye-to-eye.  “I know you’re not bad, big brother mine,” she replied, “But the last time you were four, Dad had your Animagus form locked down.  If you transform, you might do stuff without even thinking about it.”

The little boy pouted harder, his magic tingling.  Without warning, baby sister tugged him out of Uncle’s grip, just as his magic surged, a surprised yelp became a startled **chu-rep!** as baby sister held him carefully, his wings free and his paws tucked close to her chest.  His feathered tail curled up, the tail feathers spreading as he squeaked at her.

“Like _that_ ,” baby sister remarked, her voice rather dry.

**Squ-ah!** Illishar protested, adding a little hiss to voice his displeasure.

“He lost control,” Wordy realized, eyes wide.  “But why?”

Baby sister looked up, her own eyes sad.  “ ‘Cause he’s really sixteen,” she said simply.  “The De-Aging Potion can’t make his magic regress, just his body and his memories, so we basically have a four-year-old with a sixteen-year-old’s magic.  I looked that up last night, too; that Healer should have warned you, but I don’t think she believed Auror Onasi when he told her that you guys hadn’t done this to Lance.”  She shifted the gryphlet, freeing his talons so he wouldn’t accidently tear her clothing or her hands.  “The Suppression Potions are why he didn’t transform before Roy and Giles found him, but if that witch had gotten him on the plane, he might have shifted while it was flying.”

**Rawrrrrrl** Illishar growled, his wings flaring wide in displeasure and his talons raking the air; furry ears laid back, flat against his skull in an unmistakable sign of anger.

“Easy, big brother,” baby sister soothed, running a gentle hand down his back.  “We’re going to get through this, all right?”  He gave her a chirrup in reply.

“Okay,” Wordy mused aloud, “We have a gryphon cub whose going to get bored before too long and I’m guessing he’s not going to shift back for a while, so we’ll have to sneak him through the mall to my car.”

“I have an idea, but I don’t think Illishar is going to like it,” baby sister replied.  She looked around, then moved to a nearby bench, letting the gryphon hatchling in her arms down.  “Don’t run off, Illishar,” she ordered.

Illishar hissed, mantling his wings before stalking away to the other side of the bench in offended dignity.  On the opposite side, he sat down and began to preen, though one sapphire eye stayed on the three humans and both furred ears flicked up to listen.

Alanna rolled her eyes and dug through the small backpack she used in lieu of a purse.  After a minute of looking, she pulled out a length of leather with odd indentations across the whole piece.  “Here we go,” she announced, holding the leather up.  “It’s the prototype for my Ancient Runes project this semester; it allows a wizard to anchor a spell – any long-term spell – on the leather, then you use it like a bracelet.  The prototype can only hold spells for a few hours, but it should work long enough for us to get out of here.”

“You’re going to put a glamour on your brother?” Greg asked the girl, one brow going up.

“Yep,” Alanna confirmed.  “His Animagus form will look like a cat instead of a gryphon.”  She looked from the leather to her uncle.  “Um, if we go by a pet store, we should probably see if we can get a cat tree or something.  That way, Illishar has something to play on and he’ll get into less mischief.”

“What if he flies in the pet store?” Wordy questioned, watching the gryphlet with a concerned look on his face.

“He _won’t_ ,” Alanna said firmly, her eyes steady on her brother.

**Squarrrrr** Illishar grumbled, his tail lashing as he looked up from his preening.

* * * * *

The cat glamour hid the wings, the talons, the eagle head, and the tail feathers, but the ‘cat’ looked remarkably similar to the gryphlet in most other aspects; he was shades of brown and tan, had bright sapphire eyes, and his tail started turning black about two thirds of the way down, going pitch black right at the tip.  His muzzle and ears were a very pale tan, close to white, and he had very short whiskers, to disguise the fact that the ‘whiskers’ were just an illusion.

Wordy led the way into the pet store, trying to keep from getting too tense; if the glamour fell, they’d _all_ be in big trouble, but Alanna didn’t look very concerned.  Illishar, in his sister’s grasp, was _unhappy_ and not afraid to show it: he did _not_ like the ‘collar’; he was too small for the leather rune bracelet, so they’d been forced to make it a collar instead.  The ‘cat’ was hissing and twisting and doing his very best to get free from the collar, but, fortunately, wasn’t getting anywhere with his efforts.  Greg looked more amused than concerned; his faith in his niece meant he wasn’t worried about the glamour failing at an inopportune time.

In the interests of getting the shopping done, Wordy made a beeline for the cat section and the cat trees on display.  A perky shop clerk spied the three potential customers and descended, beaming at them and the ‘cat’ in Alanna’s arms.  “Can I help you?” he asked eagerly, his eyes mostly on Alanna and her ‘cat’.

Alanna smiled back politely, letting Illishar down.  “We’re just looking at the cat trees,” she explained, gesturing at Illishar, who’d abandoned his efforts to squirm out of his collar and was sniffing curiously at the cat trees, ears pricked.  “I think we’ll be okay, thanks.”

“Well, I have a few cats myself,” the clerk confided.  “And they just love the cat trees we have here.  Let me show you…”  He shifted to reach for Illishar and Alanna casually moved to block him.

“Illishar doesn’t like to be picked up by strangers,” she informed the clerk in her best ‘my cat is my _baby_ and _you_ aren’t going to touch him’ voice.  Looking down at Illishar, she added, “Go ahead, Illishar, find one you like.”

A cat-bird grumble drifted up as Illishar went back to sniffing at the cat trees, before picking a tan and navy blue tree to scramble up; he reached the top in seconds and crouched, the fur on his back fluffing in a way that Wordy suspected meant Illishar had his wings spread.  When he jumped, Alanna caught him and drew him in, scolding, “Illishar, don’t jump off the top; you might get hurt!”  Glancing back, Alanna gave Wordy and Sarge a grimace that meant they’d best wrap this trip up as quickly as they could.

“He liked that one, you think?” Wordy questioned.

Alanna nodded, her grip on Illishar tight to keep him from trying to fly again.

“Okay,” Sarge told the clerk, “We’ll take the navy blue with the three levels and a platform.”

The clerk’s expression was puzzled, but when Sarge gave him a ‘hurry up’ look, he nodded and hurried away to get their purchase.

Illishar grumbled from his sister’s arms and Alanna gave him a _Look_.  “Don’t give _me_ that, Illishar,” she scolded.  “ _You’re_ the one who jumped off the cat tower, right in front of that clerk.  If you wanted a different cat tree, you should’ve behaved.”

The unhappy gryphon hatchling just hissed again, returning his attention to squirming out of his collar.

“And leave that alone,” Alanna added sternly.  “It’s the only way you can be in here right now.”

Judging by the immediate yowl, Illishar was _not_ impressed.


	4. Three Girls and a Gryphon

The three Wordsworth girls were wide-eyed at their first sight of Illishar and the cat tree their father and his boss had set up in the living room; Shelley arched a brow at her husband, demanding an explanation.

With a grimace, he did.  “We’re hoping he sticks to the tree and doesn’t start ripping up the house.”

“Why not just make him stay human?” Shelley inquired, a touch of frost in her words.

Illishar, gamboling around Ally and Lilly, looked up at Shelley’s remark.  An instant later, he _blurred_ , yawning and completely oblivious to the shocked expression on Lilly’s face; Ally just shrugged and kept petting Lance’s back.

Greg scooped his nephew up, giving Shelley an apologetic look.  “He’s shifting instinctively, Shelley, and so far, once he changes, he stays in his form for a few hours.”

“I can take the couch tonight,” Alanna offered as her brother snuggled close to his uncle and fell asleep.

“Thanks, _mia nipote_ ,” Greg agreed.  “Let’s hope he sleeps through the night.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Shelley grumbled in an undertone.  Children that small _never_ did what you wanted them to do…especially when you wanted them to do something as silly as sleep the night away.

* * * * *

Sunday morning’s wakeup call consisted of an excited, hyperactive gryphon hatchling who took great delight in dive-bombing his uncle, his sister, and a squealing, just as excited Ally.  The elder Wordsworths escaped the wakeup call by the simple expedient of having their door closed.  Greg, reluctant to wake his teammate, decided to handle the early morning duties himself; he started the coffee pot, asked Ally what she wanted for breakfast, and located the eggs in the refrigerator for his own breakfast.

“Illishar, if you want breakfast, you’ll have to shift back and tell me what you want,” Greg informed the gryphon cub on the kitchen table.

Illishar gave a hiss of protest and mantled his wings, snapping his beak at an imaginary carcass.  Sapphire eagle eyes regarded Greg and he added a soft, whimpering cheep in plea.

“No, I will not give you raw meat to eat,” Greg refused.  “If you want breakfast, you have to shift back.”

The gryphlet curled up, hiding his head under one wing as he sulked.  Greg looked down as Ally tugged on one leg, holding up her sippy cup.  “What would you like, Ally?”

“Owange juice,” Ally replied shyly, giving Greg a tiny smile.  Of the three Wordsworth girls, the three-and-a-half-year-old was the closest to Lance’s current age.  She had brown hair, much the same shade as her father, blue eyes that were just like her mother’s, and, even at her young, age, her features were a touch broader than most girls’, though they suited her.

“Okay,” Greg agreed, taking the sippy cup and pulling the carton of orange juice out of the ‘fridge; he filled Ally’s cup and fit the top in place before handing it back to her.

Illishar uncurled, making another plaintive cheep.

Greg arched a brow at his nephew.  “Lancelot,” he said warningly, before he paused.  “Are you having trouble shifting back?”  To be honest, he didn’t _think_ that was the issue; Lance didn’t appear to have even _tried_ to shift back.

Illishar nodded solemnly, though his solemn attitude was spoiled when he lifted one forefoot and delicately licked a talon.

Unconvinced, Greg pointed to the floor, waiting for Illishar to hop down before he ordered, “Right here, show me.”

If a gryphon could beg, Illishar did; the gryphlet drew back, then cast up sapphire eagle eyes that gave off the impression of going wide and pleading.  His wings spread, then slumped down as much as they could; the hatchling shifted to balance on his rear paws, both forefeet coming up like a dog’s front paws.  A pitiful whine rose from the cub’s chest and he raked the air for an instant.

“Show me, Lancelot,” Greg ordered sternly, tapping one foot.

The stand-off continued for another few seconds, then Illishar grumbled to himself and finally _blurred_ , an unhappy four-year-old appearing on the floor.

“That’s better,” Greg remarked.  “Now, what would you like for breakfast, _mio nipote_.”

Lance pouted, crossing his arms.  “Sausage,” he finally decided.  “And bacon.”

“You can have one or the other,” Greg decided.  “And I’d like you to have some fruit and vegetables as well.”

A whine rose from the four-year-old, then Ally offered, “You ca’ have ceweal wi’ me, Illieshaw.”

Mentally, Greg facepalmed; trust Wordy’s little girl to have picked up on Lance’s Animagus nickname.  “Ally, I only called Lance ‘Illishar’ because he was in his animal form,” the Sergeant corrected gently.  He switched his attention to his nephew, asking, “Would you like to share Ally’s cereal, Lance?”

The brown head shook ‘no’ and Lance sullenly pushed himself off the floor and went to the kitchen table.  “Sausage,” he decided, but he didn’t voice any fruit or vegetable requests.

“Okay,” Greg agreed, deciding on a banana and carrots to keep the preschooler busy while the sausage cooked.  Lance made a face when Greg set the fruit and vegetables in front of him, but the Sergeant’s warning expression kept him from saying anything.  Ally, watching the older boy, made a face of her own, giggling at Lance after a few seconds.  When Lilly and Claire tumbled into the kitchen, Greg suppressed a sigh; three little girls and a four-year-old gryphon Animagus, _wonderful_.

* * * * *

After breakfast, Lance wasted no time at all in shifting back to his gryphon form, to the dismay of all three adults.  Alanna sighed to herself, shaking her head at her brother, and the three Wordsworth girls immediately started to play with the enthusiastic baby gryphon.

“Okay, in the living room,” Wordy decided.  “You four can play in there, but nowhere else, understand?  And girls, be careful of those talons; Illishar can draw blood without even trying, all right?”

“We’ll be okay, Daddy,” Claire reassured her father; an agreeing cheep rose from Illishar.  The ten-year-old was growing up to be rather similar to her mother, though her eyes were brown and her hair several shades lighter than her father’s brunet.  For now, she wore her hair long, in a not-so-accidental imitation of Alanna, but Wordy suspected it was just a phase; no, actually, he _hoped_ it was a phase…he’d already had to talk Claire out of cutting her hair right after Alanna’s hospital ordeal – Claire had been utterly dismayed the first time she’d seen Alanna with her auburn locks all but shaved off.

Ally and Lilly ran to get their dolls, eager to play with a _real life_ animal, mythical or not.  Claire opted to stay with Illishar, petting him and leaning in close to see his feathers and claws, both eagle and lion.  Illishar held still for a minute or two, then slipped out from under her hands to prowl over to his cat tree, rumbling as he stepped up onto the lowest platform and inspected the stout poles that led upwards.

The gryphlet crouched, then sprang up onto one pole, scrambling up to the cat house on the first level; he was perched on top of the house in seconds.  Small wings flared and Illishar leapt to the second set of poles, his wings providing balance as he climbed to the second level; the gryphon cub didn’t even pause on the second level, just hurled himself up to the uppermost platform.

“Illieshaw, play wi’ us,” Ally called, reappearing with several of her favorite dolls and what looked like a preschooler sized t-shirt.

Lilly, just behind her younger sister and carrying her own dolls, added her own two cents.  “Yeah, play with us, Illishar.  We’ll have lots of fun.”  The middle Wordsworth daughter’s blonde hair had the merest _hint_ of brown and she already possessed a mix of her mother’s willowy frame and her father’s solid build, which gave Lilly a rather athletic look.  Gray eyes peeked out from a face rounded with remaining hints of baby fat; pert features gave her a snobbish look, but her friendly demeanor counteracted that natural look.

Illishar inspected the two little girls from his perch, his head tilted to the side like a curious bird.  After a few seconds of consideration, he leapt from his perch and flew over to the girls, landing right by their dolls with a inquiring **mer-reap?**

Little Ally squealed in excitement and dropped her last two dolls to hold up the t-shirt; Illishar, seeing her purpose, backed away with an indignant hiss.  “Wear shirt, Illieshaw,” Ally ordered.  “Then we have tea party!”

Illishar mantled his wings, hissing louder before he turned and darted away; Lilly snatched for the gryphon and missed as he fled back to the cat tree, flying up to the top platform and out of reach.  Claire jumped at Illishar’s abrupt retreat from her sisters and looked up from the book her father had gotten her after her kidnapping; it was a book about magical creatures and she’d wanted to see if the book’s description of gryphons matched Illishar.

As soon as Claire saw the t-shirt, her eyes widened and petite features drew together in a frown.  “Oh, no, Ally,” she scolded.  “You can’t put that on him.”

“Why no?” Ally questioned, disappointment obvious.

Claire swooped down on her little sister, taking the shirt away.  “You’ll hurt his wings, Ally,” she explained.  “They’re really strong, so he can fly, but they’re hollow, too, like a regular bird’s.  And he’s a baby, so they aren’t as strong as they will be yet.”  Inspecting the shirt, Claire grimaced.  She didn’t think Illishar was interesting in wearing a bright pink shirt with hearts all over it, anyway.

“But we want a tea party,” Lilly complained.

“Lilly, he’s not a doll,” Claire retorted.  “You can’t make him do what _you_ want to do, just like you can’t make _me_ do what you want to do all the time.”  Looking between the unhappy gryphlet and her sisters, Claire bit her lip; she _really_ didn’t want to deal with an Ally temper tantrum special – the littlest Wordsworth was also the _loudest_ Wordsworth.  “I have an idea; how about we take Illishar outside and see if he’ll play with a ball or something.”

When both Lilly and Ally looked happy with Claire’s proposal, the ten-year-old sighed in relief, then went to find her parents for permission to take Illishar outside.

* * * * *

Illishar hissed to himself, pawing at the ‘collar’ around his neck again.  But after a minute or two, he gave up and returned his attention to the two humans he was playing with.  And the ball!  The ball was very odd: instead of being a regular ball, it looked like seven balls mashed into one ball and when it hit the ground, it bounced anywhere and everywhere!

Lilly threw the ball, giggling and laughing as it hit before Illishar could catch it; the ball bounced sideways, so low to the ground that the pouncing gryphon saw it skate right under his forefeet.  Illishar twisted in midair and **squr-kk** ed in determination, landing on the ball in the next instant.  Wings spread as the gryphon shoved the ball down into the ground, growling and snapping his beak.

After a few seconds, Illishar let the ball up and carefully picked it up in his talons.  Little wings carried him over to the human fledglings, but he flew low to the ground, wary of making baby sister mad again.  Once he reached the fledglings, he landed on his back paws and held the ball up.

Ally took the ball from Illishar, her laughter spilling out, and she drew her arm back to throw the ball again; the ball was snatched out of Ally’s hand and she nearly fell as another girl added a shove to the ball snatch.  Illishar shrieked in displeasure and Lilly caught her younger sister before she could fall.

“Nice ball,” the newcomer taunted, turning the blue ball over in her hands.  Glancing down, she sneered.  “You’re playing fetch with a _cat_?  Talk about _stupid_.”

Illishar hissed loudly, mantling his wings at the new girl; she was the same age as Lilly, with dark brown hair, a smug, superior look, and a stance that reminded Illishar of how baby sister stood.  The human was insulting _his_ fledglings and he didn’t like it, not one _bit_.  Lilly moved to be between the thief and Ally, biting her lip and giving off a scent that Illishar identified as ‘fear’.  For his part, Illishar crouched, judging how high he needed to leap to get the ball back from the thief.

“Leave my sister alone,” Lilly snapped, her hands clenching as she faced off with the neighborhood girl who’d been making her school life miserable for the past month.  “And give us our ball back!”

“Or what?” Erin taunted, stepping back.  “Or you’re gonna call your daddy?  Cry-baby, cry-baby, has to go running to daddy for _everything_.”

Lilly fumed at the insults and stepped forward, grabbing for the ball.

“Oops,” Erin called, tossing the ball up and catching it as she skipped backwards.  “Too slow, cry-baby.”  She flicked another look at Illishar and a wicked grin crossed her face.  “ _Fetch_ , you stupid cat,” the girl yelled as she threw the ball as hard as she could at Illishar.

Illishar sprang forwards, over the ball, and Lilly saw the briefest flash of Illishar’s wings as the gryphon cub flapped them once; Illishar hit Erin’s chest and bowled the girl over, shrieking indignation and outrage.  Fortunately, Erin fell on the grass rather than the sidewalk and Ally darted away, catching the ball before it could bounce too far.

“Illishar, no!” Lilly cried, jumping forward and grabbing Illishar around his waist, though she was careful not to snag his wings.  She lifted the spitting, snarling cub off Erin and scrambled back, clutching Illishar to her chest; the girl flinched as the schoolyard bully pushed herself up.

“Your cat _scratched_ me!” Erin screeched.  “I’m gonna tell my Mom on you!”

“You throw ball at Illieshaw,” Ally accused, returning to the scene with Claire in tow.  “You push me and steal ball.”

Claire took in the scene, scowling fiercely at the badly disguised fear on Lilly’s face, the angry yowling coming from Illishar, and the way Ally was hiding behind her.  “I think you should leave,” Claire snapped at Erin, putting her hands on her hips.  “Leave my sisters and our cat alone or it won’t be Lilly telling our father; it will be _me_.”

“Cry-babies always run to daddy,” Erin sneered.

Ally blinked, then asked, innocently, “Cwy-babies run to mommy, too?”

Erin flushed brightly, then took a step forward, towards Ally.  “Shut up, you little freak!”

Illishar snarled; wriggling free from Lilly, he made to launch at Erin, only to be caught by his sister.  “I think,” Alanna decided, striding forward until Erin was forced to backpedal, “That is enough.”  At fourteen, Alanna was twice Erin’s age and had thrice her experience.  “I’d make you apologize, but a forced apology is no apology at all, so we’ll settle for you making yourself scarce and _never_ coming back, capiche?”

Though the redhead’s tone was light, almost airy, her expression was not and Erin found herself backing up until she’d reached the sidewalk.  Then she regained her belligerence.  “Your stupid cat _attacked_ me!”

Alanna pointedly swept her eyes up and down Erin.  “I don’t see any blood, so it must not have been that bad.”  The redhead passed Illishar off to Claire, then stalked right up to Erin, violet eyes glittering as they went amethyst hard.  “And I believe Ally when she says you pushed her, took the ball, and threw it at Illishar.  You’re lucky he _didn’t_ draw blood, so run along little girl.”

As Erin scrambled away, Alanna smirked and rocked back on her heels.  Without turning around, she remarked, “I think you three had best take Illishar back inside, but…” slowly, the redhead swiveled, “No tea parties, you copy?”


	5. Separation Anxiety

Monday brought the start of a new week and an inevitable separation between Lance and his family: Alanna had school and Greg had work.  Claire and Lilly also had school, but the little boy was far more affected by his sister and uncle leaving him behind; he whimpered and whined, managing to sound like a gryphon even without shifting.

When he finally did shift, Shelley just sighed and carefully picked up the gryphlet, wary of his wings; as a precaution, Alanna had enlarged her runic bracelet enough to fit it around her brother’s neck and added a spell to make it shrink when he shifted.  Instead of fighting to squirm out of the collar, Illishar keened softly, snuggling into Shelley’s grip.

Shelley stroked the cub’s wings, feeling tiny shudders under her hands.  “It’s okay,” she soothed.  “Alanna and Greg will be back at the end of the day; they haven’t left you behind.”

**Chu-rep?**

“Really,” Shelley confirmed, guessing at the hatchling’s ‘question’.  “Now, why don’t you go play with Ally, all right?”

**Squa-rrrrrr** the cub grumbled, but he allowed himself to be put down and nudged towards the living room.  Shelley followed, bemused when, instead of playing with Ally, Illishar went to the cat tree and shimmied up into the small ‘den’ that served as the cat tree’s first level.  The gryphon hatchling curled up in the den and went to sleep.

“Mommy, I want to play with him,” Ally whined.

“Maybe later, Ally,” Shelley told her daughter.  “I think Illishar is having trouble with the fact that his sister and Uncle Greg had to leave without him.  Let’s give him some time, sweetheart.”  Smiling down at her youngest, Shelley added, “Now, how about you and I go to the kitchen and bake some cookies, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but then, rather sullenly, Ally replied, “Okay, Mommy.”

* * * * *

Illishar yawned and stretched, feeling a bit better after his nap.  He hopped out of his den and fluttered to the ground, squeaking when he realized no one else was in the room.  He considered, then _blurred_ , glancing around and pushing at his magic to tell him where Miss Shelley and Ally were.  Gold gleamed in his eyes, then faded as he trotted towards the kitchen, hungry for the cookies he could smell.

Shy, the little boy peeked in the doorway, watching as Miss Shelley pulled a metal tray out of the _very_ big, squat rectangle thing; Lance stiffened in alarm as Ally reached for the tray, giggling; his magic _thrummed_ warning, crying out to be released.

“No, Ally,” Miss Shelley rebuked, but too late to stop the little girl; Ally’s fingers touched the tray, but only for an instant as Lance’s magic pulled the younger girl away, healing the burns as Ally was yanked over to Lance.

Ally squalled in surprise and the beginnings of pain, but it disappeared just as fast as it had come.  Turning to Lance, she cried, “Bad Illieshaw.  No take me away from cookies.”

Lance cringed back at her anger, confused.  “Tray hurt you,” he protested softly.

“Ally, stop,” Miss Shelley ordered, sweeping Ally up and setting her next to the metal tub in the middle of the large table on the wall.  Lance edged closer as Miss Shelley looked at Ally’s hands, gasping at the sight of untouched skin.

“Magic fix,” Lance explained, drawing Miss Shelley’s eyes to him.  “Magic tell me tray bad; magic said to get Ally away.”  Looking down, Lance sniffled.  “I’m sorry, Miss Shelley.”

Miss Shelley knelt, one arm going around Lance’s shoulders and pulling him close.  “No, Lance,” Miss Shelley whispered, “You did exactly the right thing.  You got Ally away from the hot tray and your magic healed her hands.  Don’t be sorry for helping someone else, understand?”

Lance peeked up at Miss Shelley.  “But Ally mad at me.”

“Ally was being bad, Lance,” Miss Shelley explained, releasing the preschooler and standing up again.  “Allysia Wordsworth, what did I tell you about touching the cookie trays?”

Ally pouted at her mother, who just stood there, waiting with her hands on hips and an angry expression on her face.

“Don’t give _me_ that look, young lady!” Miss Shelley scolded.  “You’re lucky Lance was here or you’d have burned fingers right now.  Now.  You are going to thank Lance for keeping you from getting hurt and then you are going to go to your room and stay there until lunch is over.”

“But the cookies will get cold,” Ally protested.

“And why do you think breaking the rules means you get cookies, Allysia?”

“But, but,” Ally stammered.

“No buts, young lady,” Miss Shelley said sternly.  “You broke the rules and now you have to face the consequences.”  Miss Shelley swung Ally down from the tall table and set her down in front of Lance.  “Now, thank Lance for keeping you safe.”

With great reluctance and a put upon expression, Ally gritted out, “Thank you, Lance.”

Miss Shelley nodded.  “Now go to your room, Allysia.  I’ll get you lunch in a bit.”  Her eyes hardened.  “And if you step one foot out of your room, I’ll tell your father what happened today, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mommy.”  Still pouting, Ally trailed away, with Lance looking after her, wide-eyed.

“Why you mad at her?” the little boy asked.

Miss Shelley crouched next to the four-year-old.  “She could have gotten hurt doing what she did, Lance.  You protected her from the worst of it, but she needs to understand that she broke the rules and put herself in danger.”

Lance tilted his head to the side, thinking about that.  “Like when Daddy spanked me for sneaking away from Mommy and hiding in Diagon Alley?”

“Exactly like,” Miss Shelley agreed, her gaze amused.  “Ally didn’t break the rules enough for a spanking, so I sent her to her room instead.”  Lance looked up as Miss Shelley regarded him and his tummy rumbled.  “Well, now, it sounds like someone’s hungry.  How about a hot cookie for the little hero and a roast beef sandwich, hmm?”

“Yeah!”

* * * * *

After lunch, Miss Shelley went to take Ally _her_ lunch and Lance wandered back into the living room, wondering what he should do now.  He didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, so he moved over to the shelves and the rows of thin, plastic books, trying to read the titles on the sides.  One book, with a mouse on the side, caught his attention and he pulled it out, examining the three mice on the cover and turning the book this way and that as he made curious noises, almost cheeping at the plastic book.

“Would you like to watch that?” Miss Shelley asked from behind him.

Sapphire peeked up at her and blinked, confused.  “Watch?”

Miss Shelley chuckled and took the plastic book, opening it up to reveal a silver circle, but no pages.  “Here,” Miss Shelley remarked, “My girls don’t like this movie all that much, but _I_ do, so let’s pop it in and see what you think.”

Lance watched as Miss Shelley touched a button on the front of one of the black things sitting in a big wooden cabinet.  Sound came from the black thing and Miss Shelley picked up a long, slim rectangle and pushed down on it.  The sound stopped and Miss Shelley pulled the silver circle from the plastic book and slid it into another black thing.  The thing beeped at her and began to hum as the silver circle was pulled inside; the little boy watched in awe, cocking his head to the side as the image on the bigger black thing flickered and changed.  Miss Shelley swept him up and set him on the couch, sitting next to him and slipping one arm around his shoulders as the sound came back and Miss Shelley made the image ‘play’.

* * * * *

_“I’ve won!  Ah, ah, ha, ha, ha!” Ratigan yelled, leaping in joy on the hour hand of Big Ben._

_“On the contrary!” Basil cried._

Lance’s eyes were wide, hadn’t Basil fallen to his death?

_Ratigan froze, his expression one of comical disbelief and horror.  He looked over the edge, spotting the mouse detective at once, clinging to the wreckage of Ratigan’s blimp._

_Basil looked up with a tiny smirk, unconcerned that he was still dangling over a very long drop.  “The game’s not over yet!”  He rang a tiny bell; Ratigan reflexively checked his sleeve where the bell_ should _have been._

_Big Ben rang the hour.  The vibrations sent Ratigan over the hour hand’s edge and he fell straight towards Basil, yowling in shock.  The rat latched onto his nemesis, dragging him down; the ropes on the blimp’s propeller snapped, sending both rodents plummeting._

As Olivia cried into her father’s apron and the two adult mice bowed their heads, Lance clung to Miss Shelley, trying not to cry himself.  A squeaking noise from the screen brought the brown head up at once and a smile spread across Lance’s face as Basil reappeared, pedaling frantically to keep the small propeller flying.

That was when it happened – magic _thrummed_ and _snarled_ outrage; Lance closed his eyes against the sudden burn in his eyes that meant his magic was glowing within them.  Wary, he poked at the magic, asking what was wrong.  Gold swirled and he knew: Uncle was in danger, Uncle needed his help.

“Miss Shelley, Miss Shelley, Uncle needs help,” he cried, opening his eyes again.

Miss Shelley looked down, frowning at the sight of his eyes glowing gold, but she shook her head.  “Lance, the rest of Team One will keep your uncle safe; don’t you worry about a thing, sweetheart.”

But they couldn’t; his magic wouldn’t be so angry if they _could_ help.  Lance shook his head firmly.  “Uncle needs help,” he repeated.

“Trust me, Lance; he’s _just_ fine.  Now, how about I go check on Ally and let her come out and we can watch another movie, all right?”

No, it was not all right and Uncle needed help and…  “Okay, Miss Shelley,” Lance agreed.

Miss Shelley smiled and got up.  “We’ll be right back, Lance.”

The little boy waited until Miss Shelley was out of sight, then he closed his eyes and focused on his magic.  _Show me the way to go,_ he thought at the magic.  Then he _blurred_ and raced for the back door; he had an Uncle to save!

* * * * *

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the ‘cat’ racing down the street, hissing and snapping every time he had to stop for a light or weave through a crowd.  The ‘cat’ would cross a street, then angle as best he could across a block, always heading in a direct route to the Headquarters of the SRU.  When the little ‘cat’ reached an area without any human witnesses, he took flight, flying over a nearby fence and vanishing towards the rooftops.  A traffic camera was nearby, but, curiously, no one ever noticed the flying ‘cat’ on its recording.

Once on the rooftops, the gryphlet made much better time; he kept to the highest areas and flew across the streets without any fear of being noticed.  His magic hiked higher and higher in alarm as the minutes ticked away, prompting the young gryphon to push himself faster and faster in response.  He _had_ to get there in time, he _just had to_.

Then he scampered to the top of another rooftop and stopped, startled that he’d arrived, shocked that his destination lay directly ahead of him.  Little wings flared out and he threw himself forward, sailing over one last road and touching down on the black not-grass that rested against the building.  Illishar put his head down and ran for the building, his magic skating out and pushing the door open just enough for him to get inside.

Once inside, he squawked victoriously, then set off to find Uncle.  His magic whispered, warning him to stay quiet and unnoticed; he crouched low to the ground and made his way through the hallways, sticking to the shadows and the smaller spaces.  Even with his caution, it didn’t take long to reach the big room where Uncle had introduced – or was it reintroduced…? – him to the grown-ups.  Illishar padded softly up to the doorway and peeked inside; he stiffened, a low hiss-growl escaping his chest.

Mean Mummy woman was in the center of the room, aiming her wand at Uncle and the other grown-ups.


	6. I Believe in a Free Narnia

For two _days_ she sat in an Auror Division holding cell, with _no_ word of her son and no explanation for why she had been arrested.  The frantic mother demanded her son’s return, but the Aurors sneered at her; those that didn’t sneer, laughed at her, which just made her angrier.  On the morning of the third day, Maria and another witch appeared, imperiously ordering that Helen be taken to an interview room for a conference with her advocate.

Helen held her tongue as she was taken into the interview room; if she made a ruckus, the Aurors could force her back into that disgusting cell and she would _never_ find out where her beloved Daniel was.  Inside the interview room, Maria dismissed the guard with a brisk, “We will speak with my sister alone, thank you,” and a disdainful flip of her long, black hair.

The guard frowned, but left.  Once he was gone, Helen whirled to Maria.  “Where is Daniel?”

“Peace, sister,” Maria soothed, an odd look in her dark eyes.  “We will reunite you with Daniel in good time.”

Helen stiffened.  “Why the change of heart, Maria?” she asked suspiciously.  “When last we spoke, you called Daniel by that awful name.”

Maria patted the table and Helen sank into the chair next to the table, her brow furrowing in unhappiness at the cold metal of the chair and her attention on her sister.  When Helen was in the chair, Maria replied, “You have struck gold, my sister.  I have discovered that Daniel is the Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin, a most honorable heritage.”

“How can that be, Maria?” Helen questioned.  “Alan was not of that House and neither am I.  No son of ours could lay claim to an Ancient and Noble House, regardless of what I might wish.”

Maria’s smile was sharp and thin.  “Daniel is not Alan’s son, Helen; he is the son of the late Lord Calvin.”  Her hands lifted in a placating gesture.  “Please, do not question me on this, Helen.  Merely accept that you will be raising the future Lord Calvin, with the House of Smith as his Regents.  You will have your Daniel back and we shall rescue our young charge from his current…jailors.”

“Who keeps Daniel from me?” Helen hissed angrily.

“A Muggle,” Maria replied, her lips pursing in distaste and annoyance.  “A Muggle has been given custody of Daniel and the Aurors are levying a number of ridiculous charges against you in a clear and utterly appalling attempt to keep Daniel from us.  The rest of the family is working through the press, but by the time such an effort succeeds, Daniel may well be beyond our reach.”

“Unacceptable,” Helen screeched.

“Indeed,” the witch with Maria agreed.  The witch pulled a coin from her robes and laid it on the table.  “You may leave at any time, Mrs. Smith.  Compliments of an interested third party.”

Maria and Helen inclined their heads to the witch and touched the Portkey; it whisked them away from the Auror Division to safety – and freedom.

* * * * *

Maria took the lead once they were free, leading them out of the alley where they’d landed and along the clearly Muggle street.  “Where are we, Maria?” Helen inquired, wringing her hands and longing for the safety of the wizarding world as she followed her taller, slimmer sister.

“Close to where the misbegotten Muggle who took Daniel from you works,” Maria replied without glancing back.  “Do you not wish to find Daniel as soon as may be?”

“Of _course_ I wish that,” Helen retorted.  “But must we risk traveling through the _Muggle_ world?”

“What better place for a Muggle to hide his ill-gotten ward?  Few amongst us are willing to brave the Muggle world, making it the _perfect_ ploy to prevent our rescue of poor young Daniel.”

Helen mused on her sister’s words as Maria wound through a crowd of Muggles, her head high and her stride unhurried.  When they were clear of the Muggles, she spoke again.  “You speak wisely, my sister.  Let us hurry to this Muggle’s workplace and save my son from his manipulations and abuse.”

* * * * *

“Where is my son?” Helen Smith demanded angrily, keeping her wand on the Muggles who _dared_ to keep Daniel from her.  She would have him back, she _would_.  And then she would show these miserable Muggle _savages_ why _no one_ touched her _son_.

The lead Muggle, a mostly bald brown eyed man who reminded her of Alan, glared at her and snapped, “ _Mio nipote_ is _not_ your son!”

The Italian threw her an instant, then she snarled and flicked her wand; the Muggle was thrown back against the far wall and she held him there for a moment, then dropped him.  “Claim my _son_ as your nephew again, Muggle, and I will not be so forgiving,” she sneered, pacing back and forth.

“How’d you escape?” another one of the Muggles growled, moving so he was between Helen and her target.  Ice cold blue eyes bored into her, but she was unconcerned; Muggles could do _nothing_ to her.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Muggle,” Maria purred, dropping her Disillusionment Charm, “But I decided my noble sister had spent enough time in the hands of those blood traitors running the Auror Division.”  Maria stepped up next to Helen, a vicious smile on her face.  “That they would _allow_ a _Muggle_ to _raise_ a _pureblood_ child…it is outrageous.”

The Muggles shifted, their opinions of the sisters written across their faces, but Helen hardly cared.  “Maria, you may have all of them save the leader,” she decided.  “ _I_ shall deal with him; he is the one who hides Daniel from me.”

But Maria laid a hand on Helen’s arm, holding her back for a moment.  “A moment, sister dear, then you may have your fun, hmm?”  When Helen stared in disbelief, Maria gave her a tiny, superior smile.  “A trifle, but quite necessary, I assure you.”

Reluctantly, Helen inclined her head.  She _would_ have Daniel back, but if Maria needed something first, then Helen would permit it.  She owed her sister for rescuing her from the _clearly_ corrupt Auror Division; to arrest a pureblood and take her son away was unheard of, unfathomable, and it could not be tolerated.

“ _Accio_ Auror’s badge,” Maria hissed, her wand flicking in the movements needed to make the _Accio_ room-wide, rather than focused on a single object.  Helen gasped as seven badges wrenched themselves free of the Muggles and flew to Maria.  “As I thought,” Maria growled, inspecting the badges.  “Not _only_ have the blood traitors permitted a _Muggle_ to raise a pureblood Heir, they have lowered themselves enough to accept a group of misbegotten, pathetic _mongrels_ with _no_ magic whatso _ever_ as _Aurors!_ ”

“They dare?” Helen rasped, her eyes wide with horror.  “They _dare_ to break our traditions, the Statute of Secrecy itself; they _dare_ to put our world at risk?”

One of the Muggles scoffed loudly at that, a blond Muggle with short hair and blue eyes.  “Put your world at risk?” he asked lightly.  “Think again, lady; we’re all signed onto the Statute of Secrecy and we _have_ been, for _years_.”

“We proved we’re _just_ as good as any of your Aurors,” a tan-skinned Muggle added grimly.  “We’ve saved lives, both magical and non-magical, on _both_ sides of the fence.”

The Muggle with the _gall_ to claim Daniel as his nephew limped forward, pushing his way to the front with angry, intent eyes.  “Neither of you has any right to throw stones; you’re using magic in the _middle_ of a ‘Muggle’ Police station, against Toronto law enforcement officers, and both of you are planning to _kidnap_ an innocent four-year-old boy, simply because of who his parents were.”

“ _I_ am Daniel’s mother,” Helen shrieked, “ _You have no right to keep him from me!_ ”

“No, you are _not_ ,” the Muggle spat, not backing down an inch.  “And even if you _were_ , you wouldn’t have any right to him anymore.”  Topaz fire blazed in his eyes.  “First of all, you took a sixteen-year-old teenager from the scene of an accident and kept him prisoner in your house, denying him medical attention and suppressing his magic.  _Hardly_ the act of a loving, caring mother.

“You even snapped his wand, when only a criminal conviction allows that kind of punishment, _especially_ since _mio nipote_ has completed his OWLs **(2)**, _and_ you attempted to smuggle him out of the country _non-magically_ ; likely because _mio nipote_ is _not_ your son and _your_ son has a death certificate.”  Infuriating Helen further, the Muggle cocked his head to the side, giving her a sardonic look.  “As a matter of fact, it’s _you_ who had no right to keep _Lance_ from _me_ ; _I_ am Lancelot and Alanna Calvin’s guardian…”

“ _What?_ ” Maria shrieked, cutting the Muggle off.  “What _fool_ would grant a _Muggle_ any right to pureblood Scions?”

“Their father, my cousin, Lord Artorius Calvin,” was the clipped response.  “And as I was saying, I have the _right_ to their guardianship, a right that was _certified and_ _enforced_ by Gringotts!”

Helen drew back, shocked; Gringotts had _willingly_ assisted this Muggle?  “But you have _no_ right to _my son_!” she declared angrily.  “What have you to say on _that_ front, Muggle?  And do not give me your pitiful mewling about Daniel being dead; I would _know_ if my _son_ was dead!”

“ _Mio nipote_ may look _similar_ to Daniel, but he is _not_ Daniel,” the Muggle growled, his fists clenching.  “ _Your_ son was old enough to have an Apparition license, _three_ years ago, which makes Daniel four years _older_ than _mio nipote_.  Or do you actually _believe_ that ‘Daniel’ could magically make himself four years younger, with a different eye color _and_ a driver’s license?”

Fury raced across Helen’s face and she stalked forward, getting right in the insolent Muggle’s face, wand raised and the tip glittering.  “You think to _lie_ to me, Muggle?  You think to _pretend_ that Daniel would _ever_ willingly live with _your_ ilk, that he would _willingly_ enter that Muggle deathtrap I found him in?  Return _my son_ to me _now_ and I will _consider_ allowing you to _live_.”

The other Muggles stiffened and Maria acted at once, slashing her wand across and hurling all but the lead Muggle against the windows, holding them fast.  “Do excuse the interruption, sister dear,” Maria simpered.

Helen smiled briefly, but didn’t take her attention off the Muggle in front of her.  “Not at all, Maria; I thank you for your intercession.”  Brown eyes narrowed.  “Now, then, _Muggle_.  Where.  Is.  My.  Son?”

The Muggle met her furious gaze with a glare of his own, but remained silent.  As the moment hung, the Muggle tilted his chin up defiantly, but still said nothing.

“I will not ask again,” Helen snarled.

And still, the Muggle said nothing, his gaze full of defiance and something else that she could not understand at all.

* * * * *

Once upon a time, a minstrel had given his family an old Narnian tale of a faun who’d come face to face with Jadis, the White Witch herself.  As the Witch brandished her wand, capable of turning living flesh to naught but stone, she had mockingly asked if the faun knew why he was in her dungeons.  And yet the faun had answered.

_“I believe in a Free Narnia.”_

The gryphlet watching the conflict in the big room between mean Mummy woman and his Uncle fancied that the faun’s expression had been _just_ like Uncle’s in that moment: defiance regardless of the cost and a belief in something more important than his own life.

But Illishar refused to accept such a cost, refused to let mean Mummy woman take his family away from him.  _Never again,_ his magic whispered, fierce and unwilling to surrender.

_What can I do?_ he asked the magic, watching anxiously.

Gold skated over his form and then he turned and raced away from the big room, following his magic’s hasty plan.

_Never again…I’m_ not _losing anyone else…no matter what._

 

[2] Ordinary Wizarding Level


	7. Who’s Protecting Who?

Donna Sabine had joined the SRU during a period of upheaval in Team Three’s roster; their Sergeant had moved to Team Four and a week after they’d gotten a new Sergeant, two of the remaining team members had been injured, one in a hot call and the other in a car accident.  The hot call injury had been forced into a career change, but the car accident had recovered and gotten back to work after about a month of recovery.

Solid, steady, and more than ready for a change of pace from her former posting in the narcotics division, Donna had fit right into the gap left in Team Three, rising fast to become the new Team Leader and earning a respect she’d felt was elusive during her undercover work.  The newest SRU team leader wore her darkish blond hair long and in a simple ponytail.  The ponytail was tight enough that only a few strands of hair could escape to frame her tanned face with her blue-gray eyes and a friendly, if serious expression.

The constable was just heading to ask Winnie if Team Three had any warrants to serve during their shift when she spotted a cat in the station, running as fast as it could towards Winnie’s desk.  Donna shifted her direction and swept the cat up, cooing at the mostly brown and tan animal in her arms.  Very pale, almost white ears laid back and the cat hissed, swiping at her; Donna bit back a yelp of surprise as the swipe drew blood and she lost her grip on the cat.  The cat twisted as it fell, landing on its feet and resuming its race for Winnie’s desk.

“Hey, you,” Donna called, hurrying after the cat and trying to catch it.  “No cats in the station.”

The cat didn’t even look up and Donna chided herself for talking to an _animal_ like it could understand her.  Winnie looked up from her computer as cat and constable skidded around her desk, the cat just a step ahead of the constable.  “Donna?”

“There’s a cat in here, Winnie.  Be careful, it’s got really sharp claws,” Donna called, ducking and trying one last time to scoop the cat up.  The cat dodged and scurried beneath Winnie’s desk, slinking under the desk to reach Winnie.

Winnie blinked at that, looking down at the cat, who slipped out from under the desk and hurried to her, both front paws coming up and resting on her leg; large blue eyes looked up at hers and the cat squeaked and whimpered at her.  “Well, hi there,” Winnie remarked, leaning over and stroking the cat’s head.  “Where’d _you_ come from, you little sweetie-pie?”

The cat stopped whimpering, staring at her with what looked like disbelief in its eyes.  Abruptly, it drew back, clawing at a collar Winnie hadn’t even noticed until just then.  The cat growled as it wrestled with the collar and Winnie frowned; if the cat kept up, it might hurt itself.

“Hey, there, stop that,” she scolded, reaching for the cat.  “Here, I’ll get that off, okay?”

Afterwards, Winnie wasn’t sure just how it happened, but the cat managed to get one paw positioned _just so_ and swiped that paw outwards; the collar gave with a _snap_.  Right before the dispatcher and Donna’s eyes, the cat became a gryphon, just as blue-eyed, with just as many shades of brown and tan, and with just as much desperation in his yowl.

Donna jumped a foot at the sight and the yowl; when Winnie glanced up, Donna was gaping even more than she was.  It took a few seconds, but Winnie put the pieces together and her head snapped in the other direction, as if she could see the closed door of the briefing room through the countertop and her computer screen.  The dispatcher swung back to the gryphon, her voice sharp as she ordered, “Shift back now, Lance.”

She felt Donna’s incredulous gaze on her, but kept her focus on the cub.  That feathered tail curled up and then the gryphon _blurred_ , a four-year-old appearing in his place.  “Winnie, mean Mummy woman is here!”

Winnie stiffened in alarm, rightly suspecting that Lance was referring to the woman who’d kidnapped him out of his uncle’s burning car.  “Where?”

Lance cocked his head, then pointed at the briefing room.  Just where Winnie _didn’t_ want him to point, but no point arguing now.  “She wants me back, Winnie; don’t let her hurt Uncle,” the little boy begged.

“What the heck is going on here?” Donna demanded loudly, her eyes snapping between Lance and Winnie; anger was replacing shock.

Winnie sighed heavily; there was no time, but Donna wasn’t the type to walk away without an explanation.  “Apparently, the woman who kidnapped Lance escaped from custody and came here searching for Sergeant Parker.”  Lance nodded vigorous agreement.  “And Lance has just confirmed that she’s in the briefing room, with Team One.”

“They can handle one woman,” Donna countered, though her expression wasn’t quite as certain as her voice or tone; Winnie noticed Donna looking from the little boy to the briefing room and back, as though she was beginning to put the pieces together.

“Two,” Lance piped up.

“Two?” Winnie echoed, giving the little boy a demanding look.

“Cold woman is here, too.  She mad because Uncle and the other grown-ups are Aurors.  And because Uncle isn’t magic and I’m pureblood.”

Two.  Two witches, who’d probably caught Team One off guard and without their usual gear.  “I’m calling Roy and Giles, right now,” Winnie decided, reaching for her phone.  “ _You_ ,” she added in Lance’s direction.  “Are going to stay _right_ here or your Uncle will have my badge, understand?”

“Team Three is here,” Donna argued, straightening to attention with the light of challenge in her eyes.  “If Team One is in trouble, then _we_ can help them.”

Winnie shook her head, even as her call was answered with a brisk, “Detective Onasi speaking.”

“Giles, the woman who took Lance, she escaped; she’s here with at least one other woman and they’ve got Team One cornered in the briefing room,” Winnie reported swiftly.  “We need immediate backup.”

Giles swore, viciously and in what sounded like more than one language.  “I’m about to go onstage for a bloody _press_ conference about Parker being Heir Calvin’s guardian,” he growled.  “I can try to get out of it, but it will be half an hour at the _earliest_.”

“I don’t think Team One _has_ half an hour,” Winnie whispered, her face going pale and her eyes shifting unconsciously up to Donna’s horrified gaze.

“Winnie, if I duck out now, the press will _demand_ that Lance be given _back_ to the Smiths; they won’t _care_ that I left to help fellow Aurors, all _they_ care about is getting a good story and ‘securing’ the ‘well-being’ of a pureblood Heir,” Giles grated out, anguish in every last word.  “I’m sorry, but I _can’t_ ditch this conference.”

Winnie’s jaw clenched as she looked down at the little boy standing next to her.  “Fine, we’ll handle it _ourselves_ ,” she shot back and hung up before Giles could say anything else.  The dispatcher stood up, reaching for her sidearm.  “Donna, stay here,” she ordered, a determined glint in her eyes.  “I’ll distract those two long enough for Team One to get to their weapons.”

“No,” Donna refused grimly.  “ _You_ stay with the kid and I’ll get Team Three.  Magic or no magic, they can’t take us all out at once and we’re already suited up.”  At Winnie’s startled look, Donna shrugged.  “We were going to go out on patrol if you didn’t have any warrants.”  The constable turned towards the briefing room, keying her radio.  “Team Three, hot call; two subjects have got Team One pinned in the briefing room.”

“Say again?” her teammate Jimmy asked.  “How’d two subjects get the drop on Team One?”

“That’s something I intend to find out once this is over,” Donna promised.  “Now get up here; we don’t have much time.”

* * * * *

He knew he was supposed to keep magic secret, but he _had_ to get Winnie to help Uncle!  So he tore through baby sister’s runic bracelet and let both Winnie and the blonde woman see his _true_ form.  Winnie understood immediately; he felt foolish when she had to remind him to shift back.  How had he expected to get help for Uncle in his form?  Humans couldn’t understand him unless _he_ was human.

Then Winnie called Giles, but Giles refused to come; Lance didn’t understand, why was the press more important than helping Uncle?  He _did_ understand Winnie’s anger at Giles; Giles was being _silly_ and didn’t he understand that mean Mummy woman wanted Uncle dead?  But then the blonde woman refused to let Winnie go and help Uncle; Lance pouted until the blonde woman called _her_ team for help.  Sapphire peeked up; was _her_ team like Uncle’s team?  It seemed so and his magic _hummed_ in satisfaction, as if things were going right and Uncle would be safe soon.

Then his hearing picked up a sound from the big room.  No, not just a sound, a shriek of outrage and frustration…and he knew…he knew there was no time; if he didn’t do something, then Uncle wouldn’t come home _ever_ again.  Lance clenched his fists so hard he felt a touch of blood and pain sting him.

_Never again…I won’t lose anyone else!_

With a yowl of challenge, he _blurred_ and sprang upwards, his wings sweeping out and catching the air as he flew towards the big room, his magic blazing around him.  He was hardly aware of Winnie and the blonde woman crying out for him to stop, to come back.  Hardly aware of the blonde woman’s team racing in, only to skid to a halt as they saw him fly for the big room at top speed.

The door and the panels of the big room suddenly opened and he twisted to the side, darting into the room, diving down, and hurling himself straight at Uncle; Uncle was against the wall, alone and unprotected, as mean Mummy woman leveled her wand at Uncle, a furious, manic glint in her eyes.

“If _you_ won’t tell me where Daniel is, I’ll find him _myself!_ ” mean Mummy woman screeched.  “ _Confringo!_ ”

Illishar landed on Uncle’s chest, wings outspread and fierce golden eyes meeting horrified brown.  Then the spell struck and the world turned white.


	8. Alive and Not Alone

Donna roared as she slammed into the woman who’d just sent _something_ – a spell? – at Sergeant Parker, taking her down as hard as possible; the woman’s wail of outrage was particularly satisfying as was the thud when they hit the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ed launch at the _other_ woman, taking her down just as hard with a look on his face that Donna couldn’t even describe: pain, fierce determination, outrage of his own, and more.

“ _Daniel!_ ” the woman under Donna wailed, her voice shrill and cracking.  “No, I have to save Daniel; let me _go_ , you miserable Muggle!”

“You’re not going anywhere, lady,” Donna growled, pushing herself up enough to flip her captive over; she reached for her cuffs and slapped them in place, restraining her own fury and anger at the subject’s rising wails and pleas.

“No, you can’t,” the woman cried, shrinking in on herself.  “Daniel needs me, my son needs me…you can’t give me back to those blood traitors who took Daniel away from me.”

“Lady, you attacked a cop in the _middle_ of a police station; you’re going to _prison_ ,” Donna snarled, hauling her captive up and looking over at a pale Team One.  Ed had his own target cuffed and under control, but anguish marked his face as he stared past Donna.  Slowly, Donna turned and saw the pile of rubble where there _had_ been a wall…a wall that Parker had been standing against when her captive hurled that…that…that _spell_ …at him.  No one survived having half a wall dropped on them…no one.  And the little boy…the little boy who’d inadvertently allowed Donna to find out about magic…he was gone, too.

“What the heck happened here?” her Sergeant demanded from the doorway, shock radiating in his voice and stance.  With the room half destroyed and two subjects in custody, Donna cringed; at least her team hadn’t seen the actual light/spell/thing…she hoped.

The constable opened her mouth to answer; the woman in her grasp jerked away and brought up both hands, a stick of wood pointing at Donna’s chest at point blank range.  Belatedly, Donna realized her mistake: she’d cuffed the subject’s hands in _front_ of her instead of behind her.  Madness twisted the woman’s once lovely features into a mask of feral rage.  “ _Diffindo!_ ”

A light-green jet of light erupted from the stick; Donna twisted to avoid it, but knew she couldn’t.  She cringed in anticipation; the light froze right in front of her chest, just froze.  After a second, the light evaporated.

“What…?” Donna whispered, eyes wide in shock.  The constable’s gaze snapped up to the subject and _she_ froze, her jaw dropping.  The subject was outlined in golden light, but it wasn’t hers…she was struggling against the light with all her might – unsuccessfully.

And now that Donna was looking, the entire room was beginning to glow gold; even the _dust_ in the air began to glitter with golden light.  Without thinking, Donna turned back towards the pile of rubble and gasped.  Slowly, ever so slowly, gold was outlining each piece of rubble, every pebble and chuck of wall, all the insulation and wiring, even a water pipe that the spell had torn asunder.

More footsteps came from outside the briefing room, but Donna didn’t even look.  She _did_ hear a man whisper, in a breathless, awestruck tone, “What is this magic?”

Golden light spread over the entire pile, filling in the outlines until the whole wall was a mass of gold.  For a breath, nothing happened.  Then the pieces rose, fitting back into the wall and the ceiling, the rips, tears, and cracks knitting together and vanishing.  Bit by bit, chunk by chuck, the wall reformed, as if the spell had never hit it, as if the day’s events had never happened.  And as the debris rose and fit back into place, a golden sphere was revealed, with two figures inside.

“Greg!”  Relief and joy rang in the word voiced, appropriately enough, by Ed Lane.

It _was_ Parker and, in front of him, the animal Donna had so briefly glimpsed stood firm, his wings outspread and a fierce look on the eagle head of the creature.

“Wild Mage,” the other woman hissed, shock and revulsion in her voice.  “You are _raising_ a _Wild Mage_?”

“Remind me,” Wordy spat angrily, “Who came into our Headquarters and tried to kidnap a kid just ‘cause of who his parents were?  Oh, that’s right… _you_ did that and now you’re throwing a tantrum ‘cause he’s got Wild Magic?”

“What are you, nuts?” Jules demanded, picking up as Wordy drew breath.  “Can’t have it both ways, can you?”  There was a definite air of ‘serves you _right_ ’ taunting in Jules’ tone.

“Maria,” Donna’s…well…the _gryphon’s_ captive…cried.  “Maria, help me.  We have to save Daniel.  We can’t let these _Muggles_ hurt my son.”

“Wild Mage,” Maria breathed, staring at the gryphon.  “He’s a Wild Mage and you _still_ want him, Helen?  He’ll never submit to you, he’ll never stop fighting you, and suppressing his magic will only kill him; I should have seen it when the Suppression Potions made him ill, but I assumed it was merely that atrocious Muggle car accident.  Such a _pity_ you took my advice and stopped the Suppression Potions…perhaps you could have gotten _rid_ of the little monster.”

The gryphon screeched in outrage, answering _one_ of Donna’s many, many questions.  Yes, he _could_ hear them through that golden bubble thing.  Parker, on his hands and knees, still hadn’t moved; Donna suspected he was in shock.

“No,” Helen wailed, “Please, Maria, don’t abandon me, don’t let them take Daniel away from me again.  You can’t, you _promised_.”

“I never promised to accept a _Wild Mage_ as a member of our family, Helen!  Let them have the little half-breed mongrel!  They’ll turn on magic soon enough and then we can have our revenge on those Auror blood traitors.”

The chill in Maria’s voice made Donna shiver; her scorn and hatred towards a _little_ _boy_ made the constable bristle in outrage.  “We _won’t_ ,” Donna growled, beating everyone else in the room to the punch.  “It’ll be a cold day in he…” Donna’s eyes darted sideways at the curious little gryphon and she hastily rephrased, “…in a very warm place before _I_ turn on a kid for something he can’t help.”

The sounds of agreement were overlaid by a very smug rumble from the gryphon; the golden bubble around him and Parker pulled back, fading away to nothing in mere moments.  The mythical animal strode forward, his wings folding against his back as he moved; Donna blinked, was it just her imagination or was he getting _bigger_?

By the time the gryphon reached Helen, still restrained by faint golden bonds, Donna knew it _wasn’t_ her imagination; the gryphon had gone from cat-sized to standing almost as tall as Donna’s chest, as large as a full grown male lion.  The speeded up growing had been even _more_ obvious as the fur and feathers grew out and gained detail that the younger versions simply hadn’t had _room_ for.  How the young gryphon had been able to fly, Donna wasn’t quite sure, even though she’d seen it.

Helen swallowed as the gryphon calmly eyed her from less than half a meter away, his expression, under the eagle’s fixed eyes and beak, disdainful.  Then the gryphon whirled, his tail smacking Helen in the chest as he turned; if that wasn’t deliberate, Donna would turn in her badge and gun.  The gryphon paced over to the still kneeling Parker, trilling softly to the stocky Sergeant.  As Parker finally shifted, finally looked up, the gryphon _blurred_ , ignoring the gasps and exclamations from Team Three.

Sapphire met brown, then sapphire looked down.  “I’m sorry I scared you, Uncle Greg,” the young man whispered, oblivious to the fact that everyone in the room could hear him.  Parker pulled his nephew down into his grasp, hugging him so tightly that after a second, the teen gasped out, “Air, please.”

Parker loosened his grip enough for the teenager to breath, but only just.  “Next time, _mio nipote_ ,” Parker murmured, “Forget the stupid car and bail out, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” the brunet acknowledged.  “And, um, I, kinda…um, transformedrightinfrontofDonna.”

Humor sparked in Parker’s eyes.  “Say that again, Lance.”

Lance ducked his head as his uncle let him go.  Rubbing the back of his neck, he confessed, “I transformed right in front of Donna.”

Parker looked up from his nephew, for the first time realizing that Team Three was in the briefing room.  Brown eyes met Donna’s and the Sergeant tilted his head, arching one brow in silent question.

“Winnie tried to call in backup, but they couldn’t make it,” Donna reported.  “She was going to try to decoy the subjects long enough for you guys to get to your weapons, but I called my team instead.  Then the little guy took off like a bat out of you-know-where.”  _And you know the rest._

The Sergeant inclined his head, though a faint grimace crossed his face; with Lance’s help, he staggered up, leaning heavily on the young man as one leg refused to support his weight.  Parker moved forward, his nephew supporting him as he advanced on the still-trapped Helen.  “Tell me,” Parker inquired, his voice level, “Do you still believe _mio nipote_ is your son?”

Helen’s eyes flickered between Parker’s stony expression and Lance’s leashed fury.  “Daniel,” she whimpered, “Please, Daniel.  Mummy loves you, Mummy just wanted to protect you…”

“Shut up,” Lance growled, cutting her off.  Gold glinted in his eyes, making them glitter as they shifted between their usual sapphire and solid gold.  “I’m _not_ your son and _you_ had _no_ right to come in here and attack my _family_.”  When Helen made to speak, Lance’s free hand slashed down, magic flaring around him.  “ _Don’t_ interrupt,” the teen snarled.  “You’re going back to jail and the _stunt_ your sister pulled is going to cost _both_ of you, that I promise you.  Just be thankful my uncle is still alive or I would have called a blood feud between our two families, understand?”  A smirk and Lance idly waved his hand.  “You may speak now.”

“You think your family will follow a Wild Mage?” Maria sneered before a gawping Helen could reply.  “When my sister and I are free, we will make sure the Division of Mysteries is _fully_ informed of your charming little secret, whelp.”

“You actually think you’re going anywhere except to prison?” Sam questioned incredulously.  “You attacked our entire team and tried to kill our Sergeant and you think you’re going to get let off with a warning and a slap on the wrist?”

“Why shouldn’t she think that?” an unknown male remarked, stepping into the briefing room.  Donna stiffened, but the man didn’t look hostile, just sad.  “Most purebloods _would_ think that, Auror Braddock; as far as _they’re_ concerned, it’s their Merlin-given right to trample all over anyone they see as _lesser_.”  His gaze shifted to the two sisters, anger and a touch of smugness replacing the sadness.  “Congratulations, Ladies Smith; you’ve just accomplished – in under an hour – what Sergeant Parker spent weeks trying to do.”

“And that is?” Donna asked curiously when the sisters just glared at the newcomer.

A broad smirk.  “Introducing magic to another SRU team.”  As Team Three blinked and traded astonished looks, the mystery man turned to Lance.  “It’s good to see you back to your usual age, Heir Calvin.”

The young man cocked his head to the side, his hair falling into his eyes.  “How ‘bout you just call me Lance, Auror Simmons,” he countered with a bright grin.  “And it’s good to _be_ back to my usual age.”  Impish blue eyes peeked at Parker, who looked to be bracing himself.  Past the Sergeant, Team One looked just as wary, sparking Donna’s interest.  “Uncle Greg?”

“Yes?”

“Did I miss my birthday party?”

 

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd cut! I hope everyone enjoyed the latest installment to my Magical Flashpoint series. Any and all comments are much treasured and I try to respond to each and every one.
> 
> In addition to begging for comments...our next story, "Broken Dawn," will be kicking off November 2nd, 2018. Also, please check out this year's Halloween special, which will be going up the evening of October 31st, 2018. Happy Halloween All!


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